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That was over two months ago and I never told Simon what happened that day.
I'd love to be able to tell you my agoraphobia is gone. That I can walk down the street, shop, go out for dinner with Simon; things most young women would take for granted, I'm not though. Can I leave the house now?
Yes, but not without the crippling anxiety that almost makes me want to turn back to the comfort of my own home. The security that those walls provide is something I will never be able to explain and every action of stepping outside my comfort zone is excruciatingly hard, yet I force myself to do it. I have to do it because I can't let myself go backwards. I want to be able to do things with Simon and our baby and play with Maddie in the park.
Every day is a struggle, but one I need to fight.
Walking out of the bathroom, I canceled the alarm on my cell with only moments to spare. I grabbed my robe and wrapped it around me, heading for the kitchen. I needed coffee, real coffee, the kind that smelt delicious and trickled down my throat, giving me a much needed boost of energy to start the day. Instead, I reached for the decaf, the ‘organic’ blend Simon had so kindly brought for me.
Armed with my cup of flavorless tar (well, it tasted like it) and the newspaper, I sat in my recliner which overlooked the window out into the back garden. Maybe I'd even venture outside today and do some gardening.
Who was I kidding? I'd spend the day lying on the sofa, reading a book or two and probably gorging myself with the chocolate hidden at the back of the pantry (thanks Cass).
Simon had gone all food Nazi on me since we’d discovered I was pregnant. For now that was okay, because he was away so much of the day working, I could still enjoy my little treats from my hidden stash. The paranoid part of me relocated the stash every few days, for fear of him finding it. If only he knew how much junk I was eating each and every day.
Did I feel guilty when we sat down to our dinner of grilled fish and stir fried vegetables?
Hell no, he was probably eating as much junk as I was when he was at work and I was sure he didn’t feel guilty about it, so why should I? Besides, I’m sure I read somewhere the benefits of eating chocolate when pregnant.
Flicking on the TV, I ran through the channels until I found something acceptable to watch, if you could call General Hospital acceptable. It took me all of five minutes to figure out who was doing who and who was hiding what life changing secret from who, when the doorbell rang. Shows like this I could tune into once a month and still get into the story, so this was an unwelcomed distraction.
"Em!" Cass's muffled voice yelled. "Let me in!" I heaved myself off the sofa, annoyed at having to drag myself away from my new favorite show, to let her in. What was the point to giving her a key if she was going to make me answer the door anyway? That kind of defeated the purpose.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her hand on her hip as she surveyed me, confused.
"Nothing, why?" I had no idea what she was on about.
"Did you forget?" she asked, rolling her eyes. Forget what?
Oh shit, that's right, my appointment. Simon was going to meet me there because coming back to get me would've eaten too far into his day. We had arranged last week with Cass for her to pick me up.
"I completely forgot," I muttered, ready to blame the pregnancy hormones again as I reached up to scratch my head. "Give me five minutes." I said, pushing her to the living room. “Why don’t you use your key?” I added, rolling my eyes.
“I forgot it,” she said defensively, "get ready and take your time, I'm early anyhow."
“So put it on your key ring, with your car keys. That’s what it’s for, you dickhead,” I muttered as I walked down the hallway. Where did she keep her own house key, in her sock drawer?
Back in the bedroom, I pulled on a pair of elastic waisted jeans and a long sleeved tunic. Running a brush through my hair, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were puffy, my skin was pale and my hair was in need of a good wash.
God, I looked like shit. I thought pregnancy was supposed to leave you glowing, not looking like you just crawled out of a drain pipe.
"Why haven't you unpacked yet?" Cass called out.
"Because, I'm pregnant and Simon won't let me lift anything," I replied loudly. I walked back into the living room and rolled my eyes at Cass, who'd made herself at home, lying on the sofa eating my homemade cookies.
"These are pretty good," she admitted, between mouthfuls. “You look like shit,” she added, grinning at me.
"You sound surprised and thanks," I laughed. She knew how much I loved to cook. She shrugged, shoving the last of the cookie in her mouth before standing up and brushing crumbs onto the floor.
"Thanks Cass," I sighed. She looked at me innocently, her hands turned upwards as if to say ‘what?’
"Come-on, let's get going," I said, grabbing my purse and scarf.
As we walked out to Cass's car, I focused on making it to the passenger door. I glanced up and down the street looking for pedestrians, not wanting to put myself in the position where our paths might cross. Looking at me, you'd never know I was agoraphobic. I still used the term myself, because in my mind that’s what I was until I no longer felt the anxiety and stress when I left the house.
If I couldn’t go out alone, then I wasn’t over it.
I was getting better at putting on a front. Even people that should know me well enough were fooled into thinking how far I'd come, like my mother and my father. I think that it made them feel better about themselves and our relationship if I was successfully working through my issues.
